The Little Things You Do Together
by turnitintolove
Summary: Your thoughts are briefly brought back to the present by striking blue eyes that slowly come into focus. Only a nose away and the voice that seems to be attached to it.  The voice keeps asking you to stay.


You're laying on the ground, feeling the life drain out of you. You're pretty sure you can hear someone screaming or crying your name. Maybe it's both? You can feel the cold floor, now wet with your blood. You can certainly feel the place beneath your ribs where the bullet tore through your flesh. And you can make out a blur of blonde hovering above you. Most likely the source of screaming and/or crying.

But your thoughts are on the things you're yet to do. The boxes you still haven't unpacked in your new house. The final student loan bill that's sitting by the phone. The sexy new boots you still haven't broken in. The lingerie still in the pink striped bag sitting in the corner of the room that you were saving. The expensive bottle of wine your parents bought as a housewarming gift. The fancy claw foot tub you're yet to have sex in. The stack of books sitting on the coffee table you've been meaning to read. The plane tickets to Paris that are on the fridge. And the ring that's sitting at the back of your underwear drawer.

Your thoughts are briefly brought back to the present by striking blue eyes that slowly come into focus. Only a nose away and the voice that seems to be attached to it. The voice keeps asking you to stay. Which you think is odd, because clearly, you're not going anywhere.

Suddenly you remember the first time you saw her. The first day of the third grade. The stalky new girl from some state you didn't care about. She sat next to you and asked your name after offering hers. Brittany. She had a big smile and clear blue eyes. It didn't take long to figure her out, but the other kids didn't bother to. They thought she was dumb and clumsy. So you stuck up for her, linking your pinkies and sealing the bond. She made you feel like half of a whole.

The first time you kiss her, you're both thirteen. You ran to her house after hearing your parents argue for the fifth time that week. She holds you as you cry out your fears and she strokes your tear stained face. You lean in and kiss her. Because you want to thank her for being there and because you love her and because you might be a little bit in love with her, even if you don't understand it yet. You pull away, scared that you might have crossed that thin invisible line, but she smiles at you and brings your lips back to hers. Because really, she always knew. Long before you did.

When her hand makes it's way down your Cheerios skirt, you run away. You don't look her in the eye for three days. When she finally asks you what's wrong, you shrug her off and lie. But she sees right through you, like she always has. The second time it happens, she tells you to relax and trust her. So you do. And then it's the only thing you can think about. The way she feels, smells, tastes. The way her body curls around yours, sweaty and glistening as you both try to breathe.

You feel something warm on your face. When did your body get so cold? When did the air start to feel like knives? The voice keeps telling you, no, demanding that you stay. It's begging you not to leave.

The hands on your face feel like the ones you usually hold. You remember the first time you walked down the halls holding her hand. Not her pinky. Her hand. You were shaking as you watched the busy hallway stretch. It felt like the long walk of a condemned man. But no one cared. No one threw a slushy, no one called you any names. All you could hear was your heart beating in your ears. As the weeks went on, it got easier. Easier to hold her hand, to kiss her at your lockers. No one cared. Your friends just smiled. The boys sighed at their loss of someone to chase. Your parents nodded and told you they knew. They had been waiting for you to learn to love yourself. So you cried and ran to tell her.

The events of a few minutes ago begin to surface along with the past. Your past and present colliding and vying for your attention. You're asking her if she wants a candy bar as she's talking to the cashier. A man walks in, waving a gun and demanding everyone's cash. He goes to grab her wrist and you see the fear take over her face. So you pull her behind you, demanding that he take you instead. He doesn't like it, so he points the gun at her, you hear her breath catch in her throat. You watch as his finger puts pressure on the trigger and you do the only thing your body tells you to. You push her to the ground and feel your flesh burning and tearing.

Someone's moving you. More voices telling you to hold on, but you still don't know what to hold onto. Maybe it's her. Voices telling you that you're being taken somewhere, but all you notice is the lack of blue eyes and warm hands on your face. There are bright lights and you feel like you're surrounded by people. People who keep telling you things that you don't understand. Before you can grasp where you are, bright lights are rushing over your head and you're somewhere new. Somewhere cold. And then it's black.

You remember the first time you really saw her dance. You'd danced with her in class, and in practice. But not like this. Music playing in her garage and her eyes closed. Her body just listening and moving. You're both seventeen and you're pretty sure you're head over heals in love with her. You don't even realize that she's stopped dancing and is offering you her hand. So you take it and it feels like the world has stopped turning.

When you open your eyes again, everything is too bright. The lights in the ceiling, the morning sun shining though the shaded window. And you don't remember swallowing cotton balls. She sees you flutter your eyes open and squint them shut again. And suddenly she's crying and cradling your face. She's thanking you and telling you she loves you. But she's also mad because she was scared that you'd left her. You smile to reassure her that you'd never leave, never leave her. She kisses you gently before calling a nurse.

She holds your hand as the doctors tell you how lucky you are to be alive. And while the officer asks you questions about what happened, and tells you that you're a hero. He also assures you that the man who shot you will be going to prison for a very long time. You nod your thanks and close your eyes, pulling her to lay in the bed with you. Needing her warmth and arms to feel safe and maybe a little bit invincible.

You decide that as soon as you get home, you're going to pull the blue ring box out of your underwear drawer and ask her. Because really, life is too short to not be with her forever.


End file.
